


Breathe Sherlock

by luciferslittlehellhound



Series: Little Panics Series [1]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Gen, One Shot, Oneshot, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:22:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferslittlehellhound/pseuds/luciferslittlehellhound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the bullies hit hard there is always one person who can calm Sherlock down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [balthazar_in_221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/balthazar_in_221B/gifts).



> First ever Sherlock. Feel free to send me prompts for anything, and please let me know if you liked this one!

"Watch where you're going, freak!"  
A hard, muscly shoulder smacked into the smaller, skinnier one, sending the young boy sprawling to the floor, neatly stacked books scattering across the ground.  
"God you're such a nerd." The voice called again, encouraging snickers from onlookers. The boy ran his fingers nervously through his black curly hair as he hurries to gather up his books. The laughter surrounds him and fills his head, people mocking him as he sits helplessly by the floor; his hands shaking, and his vision blurring with tears. He can't breathe. He is going to die. Because he cannot breathe. He gasps like a fish out of water, desperate for air, needing to fill his lungs. But nothing seems to work and his sharp breaths are pointless and pathetic. Silent sobs wrack his body, tears streaming down his face. Everyone can see. But the laughing has stabbed. Everything is quiet.  
"Sherlock!" a gentle voice calls in alarm, as footsteps echo down the corridor. They stop suddenly and a reassuring hand clutches at his shoulder.  
"Breathe Sherlock," the voice said, calmly but firmly, "calm down."  
A hand grabs Sherlock's, and places it to a warm chest, holding it tightly against a scratchy jumper. He can feel a steady heartbeat beneath his palm. Blood pumping methodically through a warm, strong heart. 65 beats per minute, he subconsciously thinks. A sportsman. A footba-no the pecks are too muscled, a rugby player. Oh. He can feel his heart rate speed up even more. It feels so fast, like he is flying, or dead, or both.  
"Breathe with me Sherlock." The voice commands. He feels the deep steady breaths beneath his palm and tries to copy. He slows his gasps and sucks air in and out, trying to stay calm. Then. Slowly, the shaking stops. His breathing slows to a normal rate, and his vision clears; his heart stops thrumming in his ears, returning to its normal rate. His eyes seek the ice blues ones he knows will be there, and he lets out a sigh of relief as he finds they stare worriedly into his. His mind races, repeating one word over and over again, as it fills his mind, his heart, his entire body.  
"John."


End file.
